


In sickness and in health

by Jmeelee



Series: Things You Said [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sick Character, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: Derek notices the smell at their Wednesday night pack meeting; sour sweat, musky skin, stale breath.  He glances around his living room, eyes landing on Stiles, swaying in his seat, fever-flushed skin standing out against the black couch he’s sitting on.He interrupts Scott’s rambling monologue to declare, “Stiles, you’re sick.”





	In sickness and in health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glorious_spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/gifts).



> For the lovely Glorious Spoon who prompted me with Sterek + Things you said when you were sick

Derek notices the smell at their Wednesday night pack meeting; sour sweat, musky skin, stale breath. He glances around his living room, eyes landing on Stiles, swaying in his seat, fever-flushed skin standing out against the black couch he’s sitting on.

He interrupts Scott’s rambling monologue to declare, “Stiles, you’re sick.”

Stiles slowly blinks eyelids that look like they weigh a hundred pounds. Now that he’s drawn attention to the odor, the rest of the wolves wrinkle their noses. “Dude, are you okay?” Scott asks.

“You look awful,” Corey helpfully supplies, leaning as far away from him as possible without tumbling over the armrest.

“I felt a little under the weather when I got in my car to drive here, but it’s gotten worse in the last hour.” Stiles scrubs long, lean fingers down his face. “Aw man, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus.”

“You have the flu,” Derek proclaims.

Stiles waves a hand in the air, swatting away Derek’s diagnosis like an annoying gnat. “It’s probably just a virus—“

“No,” Derek gets up from the leather recliner and stalks over to Stiles. “It’s the flu. I can smell it.”

“So creepy, dude.” Stiles frown up at him. “Quit sniffing me.”

“You reek, Stiles,” Liam supplies. “Sickness has a scent; Derek only noticed it first because he’s a born wolf. But we can all tell now.”

As Stiles cranes his neck down to sniff at his armpit, Derek pulls out his cellphone. “Call your father, tell him you’re staying with me until you feel better.”

“What? No. I’m fine.” Stiles attempts to stand on legs as wobbly as a newborn foal. “Scotty can drive me home.”

“You’re contagious. You want to infect your dad with the flu?” Stiles grumbles, but sits back down. “I can’t get sick, and you’re here already. You might as well stay.”

It’s a testimony to how crappy Stiles is feeling that he doesn’t argue with Derek any further, just bids adieu to the pack and shuffles slowly up the stairs after Derek, following him like a lost, bleary-eyed puppy into his bedroom.

———-  
On day two, Stiles’ fever holds steady at 101 degrees. He mostly bemoans his aching muscles. But on days three and four the fever spikes to 104 degrees, and Derek spends his time camped out on the carpeted floor of the bedroom, whole body attune to Stiles’ whimpers and labored breathing. He feeds Stiles ice chips, lays cold, wet washcloths over his forehead, and replaces the sweat-soaked sheets when Stiles stumbles, half-asleep, to the bathroom. At night, he places a cool hand on Stiles’ arm, and pulls some of the pain. There isn't much more that can be done.

As dawn breaks on the fifth day, Derek finds himself standing in profile at his bedroom window, stretching out his stiff back and watching the sun rise over the treetops, staining the snow dusting the ground a blushing pink. Derek closes his eyes, breathes deep.

There’s a rustling of blankets and sheets, and then Stiles’ hoarse voice, raspy and thick as is scrapes it way out of his swollen throat. “So fucking beautiful.”

Derek glances over, thinking Stiles must be in the throes of a fever dream, but instead glassy brown eyes are peeking out from under matted hair, locked on his face. “What?” Derek whispers, brow furrowed.

Stiles raises one hand, waving weakly at Derek’s form. “You,” he croaks. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He looks more lucid than he has in days.

Derek looks down, and finds the sun has painted the bare skin of his arms golden-orange, with streaks of red and bruised-yellow highlighting his figure. Warm light splashes across his cheeks— he imagines they are as colorfully decorated as the rest of him— but the subtle heat is nothing compared to the fire ignited in his belly at Stiles’ words.

“Do you mean it, Stiles?” Derek asks, glancing back to the bed. But Stiles has slipped away, off to dreamland once again.

Derek walks to the bed, raises the sheet and climbs in.

_____

He wakes to find Stiles watching him, cheeks waxen and forehead clammy and cool when he presses his palm against it. “My fever finally broke this morning,” Stiles murmurs.

Derek sits up, blanket pooling around his waist. “I’m glad you’re on the mend. You must be hungry.”

Stiles moans, burying his face in the pillow. “Starving.” The word is muffled in the cotton, but Derek hears him loud and clear.

“I’ll make us some breakfast.” He glances at his phone. “Or lunch.” He rolls out of bed, heading toward the door.

“Hey, Derek?” The words reach him as his hand connects with the doorknob. He pauses, but doesn’t turn around.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For taking care of me. For everything. And… about what I said this morning…”

Now Derek does turn. “Don’t worry about it. I’d never hold you to things you said when you were s—”

“But I want you to. Hold me to them, that is.” Stiles smiles, a weak, wan little thing, but Derek knows as he grows stronger and healthier, it will be as bright and full of life as Stiles is. “Because they’re true.”

Derek takes a single step back toward the bed, then another. “You too. I think you’re so… I love everything about you.”

Stiles laughs. “I look like shit warmed over, and probably smell just as bad, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He takes a deep breath. “So, in sickness and in health, huh? As long as we both shall live?”

Derek grins. “Or until I rip your throat out, with my teeth.”

Stiles pats the still-warm spot next to him that Derek vacated. “I think food can wait a little while longer. Don’t you?”

Derek crawls back into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ Jamie!](http://jmeelee.tumblr.com/) Thank you for reading!


End file.
